


Smol Marcos

by Glasz_Wingsz



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt Marcos, Marcos-centric, Smol Marcos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24925159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glasz_Wingsz/pseuds/Glasz_Wingsz
Summary: An extension of that one scene with Marcos and Sabah. Also some very creative license takenwith Marcos’ size.
Relationships: Marcos/Sabah (The Dragon Prince)
Kudos: 20





	Smol Marcos

Marcos is not a particularly large person, Sabah notices. She easily hefts him to his feet and supports his weight as she guides him to the gathered healers. He must be leaning most, if not all, of his weight on her, what with the way he’s not using one leg at all. It’s a weight that she easily carries, and that worries some small part of her, that this small, frail human is a soldier. Is someone who throws themselves into danger probably quite regularly. Is someone who is a shield for others, despite the fact that the female general who they captured days ago – her shield is bigger than this human she hugs to her side. 

They continue their sluggish course across the battlefield to the healers positioned at the base of the Spire. She speaks to him as they walk – well, she walks, he hops, completely reliant on one leg, refusing to put any weight on the other – but her eyes catch many other soldiers as they pass them by. She absentmindedly notes that most of them are bigger than Marcos. Maybe not the females, but most of the males definitely are. She has only seen one other soldier as small as he, and that is the blonde haired boy that stood by their side when the battle began. She knows that boy is young. She wonders how young Marcos is. She wonders how such a small human came to be a soldier.

It is something she struggles to understand. All elves are lean, and while some may be small, none are frail. They are built stronger than humans. She wasn’t lying when she told Marcos that he fought bravely. She had witnessed him during the battle. The human is quick on his feet, and deft with his sword, though she thinks maybe that is not his first pick of weapon. He is a formidable warrior; more so in spite of his size.

So caught up in her thoughts she is, she doesn’t notice straight away when Marcos starts to flag. The unexpected weight that almost drags her down in its’ suddenness causes her to gasp and flail briefly to right herself. It isn’t as hard as it should be to correct her balance. As she turns her head to look at Marcos, she realises that the arm she grips is limp, and looking at Marcos confirms that he has passed out.

The young soldier’s head hangs and the leg he was favouring drags across the ground. She readjusts her grip on the arm slung across her shoulder and tightens her grip around his waist so that he is securely tucked into her side. She takes a few steps, intent on continuing to the healers, worried that Marcos is suffering another injury that she cannot see.

She realises within a few steps that the position is awkward. While she can easily support Marcos’ weight, without lifting him completely off the ground, his feet drag  
over the uneven ground, probably aggravating his wounds. She pauses to reassess. The Spire is still at least a hundred metres away. A few seconds of thought later, she is swinging him up into her arms, as if they were newly wedded and she were carrying him over the threshold of their home. The thought makes her heart flutter and she doesn’t have the time to look too deeply into why, and even if she did, she’s afraid of what she’d find.

Sabah carries the unconscious human the rest of the way, much easier now that he’s not dragging at her side. Her biceps burn with the strain, but the fact that she is even able to so easily lift him, tells her that he is much too small. When she reaches the Spire and the healers gathered there, she waits patiently for directions. He fits so perfectly in her arms, his head cushioned on her shoulder, tucked up very neatly under her chin.

A healer directs Sabah to lay him down on a nearby length of felt. She does so, easily supporting his weight. Is he getting lighter? His head lolls to the side and she takes a moment to admire his face. He’s slack in unconsciousness, but the lack of movement seems to emphasise the delicateness of Marcos’ features. His plump lips are parted ever so slightly. His lashes press lightly against his cheeks, creating a dark fan that only highlights the sharpness of his cheekbones, a sharpness that is cushioned by his soft looking skin. His cheeks are flushed and as she directs her gaze elsewhere, she can see that his chest rises and falls with quickened  
puffs of breath. She worries he has a fever.

He is a perfect picture of gentle vulnerability. Sabah questions again how this boy can be a soldier? If not for the armour, he looks nothing like the part. She is distracted from further thoughts by the arrival of more soldiers seeking healers. She is forced to move aside so that more wounded can be placed down. She doesn’t want to leave Marcos, even though she shouldn’t feel this attached to a man she just met. He’s unconscious; he won’t even notice if she leaves now. But for some reason, she wants to be there when he wakes. She wants to protect this delicate young one, as he protects others.

She stays, tucked up kneeling at his head, a hand gently brushing across his forehead, back and forth, as she waits.


End file.
